


Why Sherlock Could Never Make Love To John

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, John is a Bit Not Good, M/M, Not Actually Asexual Sherlock Holmes, Possessive Mycroft, Probably Crack, Sibling Incest, Unrequited Love, holmescest, set in season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24020185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: John has realised that he doesn't want another girlfriend - he wants Sherlock. Too bad Sherlock is asexual and averse to doing anything physical with him. Or does he have another reason?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes, One sided John Watson/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 43
Kudos: 126





	Why Sherlock Could Never Make Love To John

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlytherinsDragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinsDragon/gifts).



Sherlock tilted his head. “Anything the matter, John?”

Yes. Quite. In fact, he just had experienced a light bulb moment. A most unexpected one. Well, unexpected only for him, probably… Everybody else had always thought this would happen. Mrs Hudson. Angelo. Even Sherlock’s brother. The papers! Hadn’t it really been inevitable from the moment they had met?

John felt weak in the knees at this revelation. Glanced at Sherlock's crossed legs in the slim fit trousers. Long legs. Gorgeous legs. His pose revealing a delicate ankle.

He shook his head. “No,” he croaked, sounding like his grandpa, who had smoked two packages of cigarettes every day. “I’m fine.”

“Tea’s in the kitchen.”

Tea sounded good. John nodded at his flatmate and hurried to get some. When he poured the hot fluid into his mug, he wondered if brandy wouldn’t have been the better choice…

*****

Two days later he was sitting in his chair in the otherwise empty flat. Sherlock had headed off to Bart’s – Molly had called and offered him almost fresh feet with an interesting sort of fungus.

He had used the past forty-eight hours to think. About one subject exactly. Was he ready for this? No. Was it inevitable? Yes. He had been so blind all this time. Even Irene Adler had seen what he had refused to see. _‘We’re not a couple!’_ he had told her. _‘Yes you are,’_ had been her reply. And she had been right. Well, of course they had not and still were not an actual couple but really – what was still missing? They were living together. They spent almost all day together. Solved cases. Talked about them. Shared their meals. Damn. It was as if they _were_ a married couple! With one thing missing… Could he do this?

And then Sherlock burst into the room, his cheeks glowing, his eyes triumphant. “I made a ground-breaking discovery, John!” he burst out, beaming at him.

So had John… And yes. He could do this. “That’s great. Um. Do you have a moment?”

“In a sec. Need to wash my hands. The handles of the cab were icky.” Sherlock shuddered.

“Sure. I’ll get the tea in the meantime.”

“You’re a gem!” told him Sherlock before he disappeared.

His flatmate stared at his backside for as long as he could. What a backside it was… How the muscles were moving beneath the tight trousers… He had never seen such a plush arse. How would it feel beneath his caressing hands? 

Ex-army captain John Watson smiled to himself when he was walking into the kitchen. He was a gem and Sherlock was the most gorgeous creature he had ever laid eyes on. It would be all so great!

***

Sherlock was looking at his phone when he came back. His hair had been smoothed back and drops of water were glistening in it. John could only stare at him. His friend looked like a marble statue, a Greek god. This long, pale neck… How would it feel to nibble at it?

He couldn’t wait to find out.

When Sherlock had flung himself into his chair, his eyes still glued to his phone, John cleared his throat. “Um. Sherlock.”

“That’s me,” the detective mumbled absently. He was wearing his purple shirt. It suited him so well...

Suddenly John felt a little nervous. A bit. A lot. Damn it. He had been in the war! He could get through a conversation with his best friend! “I… I’ve been thinking,” he began, rather irritated that Sherlock was still not looking up.

“A fascinating time killer, isn’t it,” mumbled Sherlock and sipped at his tea.

“About us,” blurted out John.

Now Sherlock's head snapped up. “Us?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we,” John continued, relieved to finally have the curly-haired man’s attention.

Sherlock breathed out a sigh of… relief? “Of course. Friends.” He gave John a smile. Or at least something that resembled a smile. But he still looked a bit… cautious? His hand wasn’t shivering when he put the mug onto the table, was it?

John recalled when he had only recently heard from Sherlock that he had just one friend. _Him_. If this wasn’t a good foundation! Being the sole friend of a man who didn’t like people! “Yes. That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Sure. Useful, you. Examining bodies. Making Tea. Buying beans.”

John suppressed a sigh. Well, he hadn’t really expected this to be easy, had he? And he had not even nearly gotten to the point… “Yes. Thanks. I… You know I broke up with Julie?”

“Who?”

So much for this… But was that even believable? Sherlock had always been jealous of his girlfriends. If one wanted to call them that… Especially of Sarah. “The woman I saw for a few… weeks. Days, actually.” His track record regarding women wasn’t that good. Well, no wonder! He had always been wrong. Women were not what he wanted! What he wanted was sitting right next to him.

“Ah. I see. Well, what a pity.” Sherlock didn't sound pitiful in the least.

And pity wasn’t what John needed from him anyway. “Yes. Well. I think I finally understood why all my relationships with women have failed.”

“Ah. Well, good for you!” Sherlock beamed at him – before turning to his phone again.

John was close to ripping his hair out. He should probably let it lie for now. Make another attempt tomorrow. Or next year. Or when he turned eighty. But he knew he would never have the courage again. And there was no more time to waste. “Mrs Hudson has known it from the start. Angelo was right when he brought the candles to our table on this first evening. Even your brother mentioned it when he was talking to me in that ghastly warehouse. They all knew! It’s because I, in fact, want _you_.” There. He had said it. His cheeks were burning but he was quite proud of himself.

And Sherlock? He was gaping at him as if John had told him that Mycroft would move in with them. As if he had suffered a stroke. “What? You….”

“...want you, yes. I mean, we already are almost… together. We live in the same flat, eat together, work together. All that’s missing is sharing a bed.” _Damn._ This was a clumsy way to put it. But he had never, well, _proposed_ to anyone like this before! Not to anyone this… fantastic. Spectacular. Amazing. Sublime.

“I… do not think I want to have this conversation.” Sherlock's face – with these marvellous cheekbones John couldn’t wait to explore with his tongue – had turned a bright shade of red, certainly resembling his own.

“I see. You have no experience, I know. But we can change that.”

“No. No, we can’t.” Sherlock looked as if he was close to fleeing and never setting a foot in his flat again. “ _I_ can’t.”

John was made of stern stuff. A soldier did not give up so easily. Especially not on something that would pay out greatly for both of them. “Well, I get that the prospect scares you a bit. Me, penetrating your anus.”

The detective shook his head so hard that his curls flew around his head. And they were not even very long these days.

“Well, you could do it to me if you prefer.” How would it feel to have Sherlock's long cock up his arse? He was up to trying it out!

Sherlock gagged.

John sighed. “No blowjobs, either, I assume? I’m sure you’d get used to it, though. I’m not that… big.” Oh, how he would love to rub his knob against Sherlock's cheekbones!

Sherlock swallowed, his mercurial eyes wide in terror, his lips pressed together in a grimace of disgust.

“Or I could just do it for you. Never did that, obviously. We are both virgins in this!”

Sherlock put his right hand on his mouth and the left one on his crotch.

“Fine. A kiss for the start?” Oh, to be allowed to press his – sadly thin – lips on this fantastic cupid bow! Just one time...

Two arms were thrown in the air. “John, do you have any idea how many bacteria you can find in a human mouth? Millions!”

John felt rather desperate now. “Holding hands?” he pleaded. To feel those beautiful, long violinist’s fingers entangled with his own short, chubby digits!

“Ieeh. Sweaty!” Sherlock was positively retching.

“Go see a film…”

“No, please. All those ghastly people in the cinema.”

Suddenly the doctor was feeling very tired. And very depressed. Wasn’t that typical? The only man he desired, damn, the only _person_ he had really wanted to be with for ages, had to be a full-on asexual who even hated the idea of sharing a kiss or entwining their fingers. “Okay. Forget it.”

Sherlock slumped in his chair, a sign of deep relief. It was devastating… “Still… friends?” he asked cautiously.

John’s heart melted. “Of course. Always.” It was not Sherlock's fault in the end. He had been born this way. John wouldn’t mention it again. Try to find someone else. Or die alone… “Biscuits?” he offered.

At least this gave him a bright smile. “By all means.”

John nodded and got up, his heart in pieces, feeling sad and defeated. What a shame this was. He would never find out how it was to hold Sherlock close to his heart and make love to him. Mr. ‘My-Body-Is-Just-Transport’ had no idea what he was missing out on.

*****

Lips were crashing together. Long-fingered hands were fumbling greedily with expensive clothing. Buttons sprang off a waistcoat. Trousers were more or less ripped off a toned body. When the two figures had been stripped off every thread of fabric, they fell onto the bed. Lips were pulling at rich, black chest hair. A smooth bottom was worked over by deft hands. Tongues were put into ears. Two men couldn’t be close enough to each other.

Oh, Mycroft had been fuming just two hours ago. How dare this nasty pipsqueak hit on his dear brother? Suggest getting intimate and down and dirty! He had been close to calling a big guy who liked to take care of such jobs. But he had also not missed Sherlock's disgust about John’s efforts and how he had, meekly, asked him if they were still friends when John had given up. And he had known that he couldn’t take John out without hurting his brother, and he did not like to do that at all. And… they were keeping up the illusion that he did not have any bugs in Baker Street and did not listen to private conversations Sherlock was having. Of course these bugs were there for a reason – a reason about which he hoped he would never have to tell Sherlock. He knew for sure that Sherlock was aware of the devices and let him get away with it because he thought it was just in Mycroft's nature to be a control freak but he had no idea why they were necessary. That there one day might be a threat Mycroft had to stop in its tracks and therefore know about at once. Everything Mycroft Holmes did served a higher purpose, whether it was for Queen and Country or his beloved little brother.

In any way he would not mention what he had heard. And he would let John live. For now. If he ever tried something like this again, and not by asking but by actually forcing himself onto Sherlock, Mycroft would strike and John would not even know who was coming for him.

“You like that?” he panted now while Sherlock was sucking his cock. His huge, massive cock. Not something that resembled an – admittedly naughty – children’s toy!

Sherlock couldn’t answer but he managed a nod without biting him and fondled his balls in a most pleasant way.

Mycroft let him worship his favourite tool until he was close to coming, then he urged Sherlock to lie down so he could lick every inch of his (!) lover’s smooth, delicious skin.

‘ _You’re_ _ **mine**_ _!’_ he thought while nibbling at this swanlike neck, which he sadly could not cover in bruises even though the urge had never been greater.

‘ _These are_ _ **my**_ _love pearls,_ ’ he grimly pondered while licking Sherlock's dark little nipples into hard nubs.

‘ _This is_ _ **my**_ _lovely big cock,’_ he sent a mental message to nasty John Watson when he took Sherlock's member into his mouth to the root.

‘ _And this is_ _ **my**_ _beautiful, plush arse,’_ he thundered in his head when he had Sherlock on all fours in front of him, speared on his throbbing erection, fucking him into oblivion.

In short, this was _his_ Sherlock and nobody else’s. His brother might keep his boring friends like the pathetic Miss Hooper and the DI who couldn’t solve his own cases, and Mycroft had even made his peace with Sherlock having flirted with this disgusting, whip-swinging prostitute right before their decidedly un-brotherly relationship had started – as long as his brother knew that nobody else was allowed to touch him and claim him as their own.

Like he was doing now… He watched his cock going in and almost completely out of Sherlock's alluring bum, listened to Sherlock's cute little noises of pleasure, his hands holding him at the hips so he wouldn’t fall over when his knees got weak. This was how it was supposed to be and he would allow nobody to take Sherlock away from him.

Sherlock came with his cock up his arse, screaming his pleasure to the ceiling, sweat pearling on his long alabaster back. Mycroft pulled out to not overstimulate him and waited until Sherlock had caught his breath before he urged him to lie down again so he could hover over him when he reached his own climax, assisted by one of Sherlock's marvellous hands. He shot his load right into the beautiful face, painting Sherlock's cheekbones and those kissable lips, and watching Sherlock trying to catch whatever he could with his tongue made him elicit another spurt of semen.

Ah, if John could see him now – grinning like a sated fool, his face smeared with Mycroft's come, his hole still gaping from being vigorously rogered. Not so asexual after all, the great consulting detective. But John would never see him like this. Never be allowed to lay his greasy fingers on him.

Sherlock was his and even know nobody may know, Mycroft took great pride in this. Should everybody believe that Sherlock was above needing sex and feeling love – he knew better. And he would give Sherlock whatever he needed for the rest of their lives.

When they had cuddled up on the bed, Sherlock snuggled his face against his neck and mumbled, “That was awesome. I love you, Myc.”

And Mycroft didn’t even mind the short form of his name. He kissed Sherlock’s forehead and curled his arms around him as tight as he dared. “I love you, too, little brother. Nobody will take you away from me,” he mumbled, and Sherlock stirred for a moment before he kissed his neck.

“No. Nobody. Not ever.”

And Mycroft smiled happily and maybe a bit triumphantly, thinking of lonely John Watson, who would hopefully be crying bitter tears about not being allowed to be with the actually not-so-asexual Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
